The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector
by Lyta Padfoot
Summary: Set during the first Voldemort War three Muggles are dead and it is up to Andrew Ketterly and his new assistant to find justice... if they can.
1. Green is the Colour of Death, Part I

Author's Note: This is the first of a projected series of multi-chapter stories spanning several years and focusing on the first Voldemort war from an outside perspective. Original characters dominate, but canon characters will have important parts to play. Later installments will hint at Death Eater activities, Voldemort's quest for immortality and the origins of the Order of the Phoenix. There will be secret agents, intrigue, murders, and a little romance.

According to PS/SS, Voldemort had been a menace for eleven years before he fell on October 31, 1981. That would mean he started making himself known by 1970.

I would like to thank my amazing beta LuthAn for pointing out the cracks in the story so I could repair them.

The song is 'Way We Were' by Barbra Steisand.

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector  
Chapter One: Green is the Colour of Death**

**Part I**

**Wednesday, November 13, 1974  
St. John, Jersey**

The radio in the kitchen played on but the last listeners were beyond caring for the music. A freckle-faced woman, her arms still covered up to the elbows in soapsuds from a sink full of dishes lay across the linoleum floor. Her husband was slumped beside her, a damp dishtowel still held in one hand. The shattered remains of a glass littered the floor. Upstairs, a teenage boy lay dead in his bedroom.

_Of the way we were.  
Scattered pictures,  
Of the smiles we left behind _

Morris Jakes, a local official with the Ministry of Magic, banished the Dark Mark floating above the Landry cottage.

Ten minutes earlier, his only Wizard neighbour, the elderly Mr. Bradley, had alerted him to the presence of the Dark Mark. Jakes had thrown on his dressing gown and hurried out the door and across the street to the cottage to dispel the hateful symbol before any Muggles saw it and asked inconvenient questions. He had then made a quick search of the house for survivors. As expected, there were none - even the family rabbit was dead.

As he stared at the rabbit, Jakes suddenly remembered the instructions the Ministry provided for those who stumbled onto such a scene: remove the Dark Mark, search for survivors from a distance with Detection Charms, then leave immediately and contact the Department for Magical Law Enforcement. He had completed the first two steps, but Jakes realized that he had yet to alert the Ministry or local officials.

Jakes had never trusted Floo powder, especially now with rumours of Death Eaters within the Floo Network. Owls would serve his needs. He dispatched two owls: his Brownie and a tawny bird borrowed from Mr. Bradley. One owl would fly to London and the other to the nearest Department of Magical Law Enforcement office in St Peter Port. All Jakes could do now was to wait until others came to deal with the aftermath of this tragedy.

Jakes ran a hand through his thinning hair; in his youth he had worked in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Once he had even hoped to be an Auror, but now, after having been sick over Colette Landry's roses, he thanked his lucky stars that fate had set him on a different path.

He stared at the empty patch of sky where the Dark Mark had been hoping help would arrive quickly. All around him Muggles slept on, unaware of the horror perpetuated in their midst.

_Smiles we gave to one another  
For the way we were  
Can it be that it was all so simple then?_

Andrew Ketterly, Chief Protector for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Guernsey Office, knew something was wrong as soon as he heard the owl scratching on his window. He grabbed his wand from under his pillow and rolled over, glancing at the clock and frowning at the time. There was only one reason anyone would owl him at this early hour. And while he thought it extremely unfair that bad news required immediate notification while good news could be put off, Andrew knew his duty, and so turned toward the window.

He checked the owl for nasty surprises before opening the window. The bird hooted at him thrice before it perched on the headboard to wait for a reply - never a good sign.

He opened the letter. Until tonight, the only local casualties of the Death Eaters were a Ministry witch assassinated while holidaying on Alderney and a Sark wizard caught up in a rare daylight raid on Hogsmeade. Neither attack really hit home for him – one was a tourist and the other far away in Scotland. With a heavy heart Andrew knew the war once relegated to what islanders called 'the Continent' had at last reached 'the states'. As his eyes skimmed the letter, they found what he feared: The Dark Mark hovered above three Muggle corpses on Jersey.

Andrew dressed quickly and Apparated to the address scribbled as a hasty postscript, and with a soft pop arrived in front of a darkened cottage.

"Ketterly?" an older wizard in a blue dressing gown squinted at him. He had his wand out, but his hand shook. Andrew thought that if it came to a duel, it would be easy to disarm him. Not that he expected anything of the sort, of course, but one could never tell.

"Are you Jakes?"

"Yes," the wizard confirmed. He looked immensely relieved to see Andrew. "Your robes are on inside out."

Andrew sighed. Not exactly the impression he might have hoped for, but he had been in a hurry. "Is that the house?"

"Yes," Jakes said.

"Thank you for the owl." Andrew cast a simple Detection Charm on the cottage, but the outline of the building remained dark. Nothing lived in that house. "Did you notify London?"

"At the same time as I owled you. Aren't you going to go in?" Jakes asked, curious. Now that he was no longer on his own his courage grew.

Andrew indicated he would not be going in just yet. "Ministry procedure stipulates that we're not allowed to enter a Dark Arts crime scene alone. Sometimes dead bodies aren't the only things Dark wizards leave behind." It was best not to mention that sometimes even the corpses were dangerous. After surviving the war against Grindelwald, Andrew was not afraid of many things, but Inferi were definitely on that short list.

Jakes paled. Evidently, the possibility of a trap had not occurred to him. "But I..."

"Already went in yourself?" Andrew finished. Jakes nodded. "Now you know better," he said grimly as he checked him over and did not find any trace of curses. He had not really expected any. "But it's not a problem this time. You're clean."

"How long do you expect it will be before we hear from London?" Jakes asked.

"At least an hour," Andrew said as he wrapped his inside-out robes closer around his lean frame. It was freezing outside.

"Perhaps we could wait at my house," Jakes suggested. He had a need to feel useful. "We could have a cuppa."

"Which house is yours?"

Jakes indicated a house across the street from the Landry cottage.

"Good idea," Andrew said gruffly. He could correct his clothes inside, and could really do with the tea.

_Or has time re-written every line?  
If we had the chance to do it all again  
Tell me, would we? could we?_

Being an Auror turned out not to be the glamorous occupation Frank Longbottom and his girlfriend Alice Henshawe had expected. If anything, Frank felt he was combating sleep deprivation more than Dark Wizards, and was failing miserably at the former.

It was Wednesday now, but so early in the morning that sensible people were still in their beds. Frank could barely remember when the last time he had _seen_ his bed.

The words of the report he was studying were blurred beyond all recognition. He rubbed his eyes and the smears revolved back into something almost comprehensible. This was his third straight night on duty at Auror Headquarters.

He stiffened and reached for his wand at the sound of footsteps approaching from behind; he no longer felt secure even buried in the heart of the Ministry. Frank turned to find Weatherby, Mr. Crouch's secretary, coming towards him. He recognized the secretary's stiff stride; this would not be good news. But these days it never was.

"This arrived for an Auror." Weatherby slapped the letter down in front of Frank. Until now it had been a relatively quiet week, but the Death Eaters would often conduct a series of attacks and then fade away for weeks. Frank feared that another round of attacks was about to commence.

Frank slit the letter open with his wand and winced as he read the contents. Three more innocent people were now dead. He did not have to owl his superiors with news of this latest attack; he knew Moody and Crouch were still sequestered in Crouch's office discussing the need for more personnel to join the fight.

Frank got up to inform Crouch. He would send an owl to Dumbledore later. There was no need to employ the techniques designed for Order members to communicate securely, not that he felt capable of a Patronus at the moment. No, an owl would do. This was just a simple warning for the sake of an orphaned girl. No one deserved to learn such terrible news from a schoolmate or a newspaper.


	2. Green is the Colour of Death, Part II

Author's Note: Many thanks go to LuthAn for her amazing beta.

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector  
Chapter One: Green is the Colour of Death**

**Part II**

_Mem'ries, may be beautiful and yet  
What's too painful to remember  
We simply choose to forget  
So it's the laughter_

Bartemius Crouch had a map of the British Isles in his office. It was beautifully drawn, but littered with little jewels indicating the locations of Death Eater attacks. A handful of rubies labelled attacks where no one had died; most of the locations were marked by emeralds, jewels the same hue as the Killing Curse, the colour he now associated with death. The map invariably attracted the attention of visitors, which was the point: drive home the threat of You-Know-Who and his followers.

Alastor Moody studied the map while his boss read the latest reports. Jewels obscured London and Hogsmeade, even after Crouch enlarged the map and began to employ smaller markers.

"Almost everyone has been affected," Crouch said heavily.

A conspicuous vacancy of jewels in the lower right corner of the map drew Moody's attention. "Channel Islands are unmarked, excepting that incident on Alderney last year."

Crouch nodded at the single emerald blotting Alderney. "Gwendolyn Galloway. I believe she was a Junior Minister in Magical Catastrophes."

"Holidaying with her husband," Moody shook his head, as he pressed his thumb against the emerald and a brief description of the attack unrolled in front of him. The Galloways were once his neighbours and he had been a frequent attendee of their dinner parties...

Crouch shuffled through a stack of parchment nearly as tall as himself. "One attack and the office on Guernsey have never stopped petitioning for extra personnel," Crouch grumbled. "I personally think we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain."

Moody scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Isn't Guernsey just Andrew Ketterly and that ancient secretary of his?"

Crouch blinked in surprise. He was not as familiar with the situation in the Channel Islands as he ought to be, but as Department head he had to focus on the areas under a direct threat. Still, even for a quiet office, Guernsey was woefully understaffed. "_Two_ people?" Crouch repeated. "And one a secretary?" 

"Ever since Claire Dupree retired," Moody confirmed.

That explained Ketterly's pleas. Ketterly's late brother Louis had been set to take over the Crouch's Department a few years previously and Crouch had always dismissed the brother as a man accustomed to special attention. "We don't have any trained people to send him."

"Then send him someone to train up," Moody suggested. "Ketterly used to train Hit Wizards back during the forties. He transferred to Guernsey after Dumbledore defeated Grindelwald. I don't think the transfer impaired his skills too much; he trained Dupree, after all."

Crouch knew a great deal about Lewis Ketterly but his knowledge of Andrew was limited. He decided to review Andrew Ketterly's file, though he expected it to contain even less insight than Moody had provided. His predecessors had not been interested in the keeping of detailed records.

Moody's idea was an attractive one. Crouch could envision sending someone for Ketterly to train, then transferring the trainee back to London after a year or two. Field experience was field experience, no matter where from. And even if the Dark Lord were defeated tonight, Crouch was all too aware that the wounds of civil wars had a tendency to linger and fester. "Do we have anyone suitable to send?"

A consultation with the applications ensued. The Aurors and Hit Wizards had just begun a new training program and had reduced their stack of applications to the questionable and the unqualified.

Moody was considering the rejected applications. "There is this one," Moody said, scrutinizing a slender file before passing it over to Crouch. "Nineteen, no criminal record, good references. NEWTS... 'O' in Defence Against the Dark Arts, 'E' in Charms and Herbology, but only an 'A' for Potion and Transfiguration."

Crouch scanned the file. Officially, the Aurors and Hit Wizards took only candidates who earned 'Exceeds Expectations' or better on at least five NEWTS. Unofficially, it was a requirement often bent in these darkening days. "Alice Pevensey." The surname was familiar but it took Crouch a moment to place the family. "Her mother is a known sympathizer who associates with the Malfoys and contributes to the Wizarding Genealogical Society. There were rumours about her father and Greyback."

"Doesn't mean she feels like they do," Moody insisted. Crouch wondered what Moody knew about Pevensey, but as he offered no evidence, Crouch suspected the veteran Auror was relying on some combination of instinct, rumour, and intelligence from Dumbledore. While Crouch preferred solid facts with verifiable sources, he had learned to trust Moody's instincts, which were usually good. Moody did not provide his endorsement lightly and Crouch decided to give Pevensey a chance.

"You want to send her to Guernsey as a test, and if she shakes out we can use her here?" Crouch fully approved of Moody's reasoning. If Pevensey proved to be a Death Eater or even a sympathizer, the damage she could do on Guernsey would be limited. They might even be able to use her to provide false information or in tracking the Death Eaters. If she proved loyal, they would gain another desperately needed Auror or Hit Wizard in a year or so. "Good thinking."

"Thank you, sir." Compliments from Crouch were rare but always sincere when offered to a subordinate. Flattery was strictly reserved for those in more senior positions.

"I'll owl Ketterly." Crouch said. He could already see an additional benefit: it would get Ketterly off his back. He banished the letters from Guernsey to the waste-paper basket.

Someone knocked on Crouch's door. Both men stiffened and Crouch saw Moody reflexively reach for his wand. The hour was either very late or very early depending on perspective, but either way, there could be only one reason for the interruption.

"Enter!"

A haggard Frank Longbottom appeared in the doorway holding a letter. "Attack on Jersey. Three Muggles dead: William Landry, his wife Colette, and their fifteen-year-old son Louis. They have a daughter, Charlotte, in her second year at Hogwarts."

The family of another Muggle-born child slaughtered. Crouch's gaze moved across the map from London to Jersey where a new emerald was emerging. Jersey was no longer untainted. "Witnesses?"

Longbottom shook his head. There were never witnesses. "None yet. Fortunately, a Ministry employee - Morris Jakes - lives nearby and his neighbour Mr. Bradley saw the Dark Mark. Jakes was able to remove the Dark Mark before any Muggles saw it."

"Longbottom, send an owl to Dumbledore straightaway." Crouch ordered, "We don't want Miss Landry finding out her family is dead from the _Daily Prophet_. I also want you to take a discrete look into Jakes and Bradley. Moody, go to Jersey and see if Ketterly remembers how to conduct a proper investigation. Tell him we'll send Pevensey to Guernsey straightaway. Make certain he understands the situation."

The two Aurors left to carry out their assignments and Crouch stared in disgust at the new jewel. It was difficult to believe that he had once thought that emeralds were beautiful.

_We will remember  
Whenever we remember..._

Every light in the headmaster's office was ablaze, but Albus Dumbledore felt as though a misty black veil shrouded his vision. He put the latest letter from the Ministry into his desk drawer, even the sight of the note made him ill. Another student would be spending Christmas at school, staring morosely into her pudding, unable to focus on anything but the contrast between the happier times of memory and the abyss of loss.

"Another death?" Phineas Nigellus asked sharply from his portrait.

"Charlotte Landry's family."

Phineas nodded, then pretended to return to sleep, as the family was unknown to him. Albus had known the original Phineas and noted in him a man who believed he would witness the destruction of his line, and saw this worry arise with every letter from the Ministry.

Albus glanced past the portrait at the hourglass. It was only half past four in the morning. Charlotte Landry could sleep a little longer before he had to deliver the news that would destroy her childhood.

_The way we were...  
The way we were..._

Sometime later in the morning, an employee at _The Jersey Evening Post_ prepared a story concerning the tragic deaths of the Landry family from carbon monoxide poisoning along with a plea for people to take precautions.

Author's Note: The song is "Way We Were" by Barbra Steisand

"I personally think we developed language because of our deep inner need to complain." - Jane Wagner.


	3. The Lady in Question, Part I

Author's Note: Many thanks go to LuthAn for her amazing beta of this story.

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector**  
**Chapter Two: The Lady in Question**  
**Part I**

**Wednesday, November 13, 1974  
Department of Magical Law Enforcement, London**

Alice Pevensey sat on a battered couch in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement waiting room reviewing the morning paper. She found reading the_ Daily Prophet_ a depressing necessity; even when the news was bad she needed to stay informed. Sorrow tinged even good news these days: the newborn babe named for a grandmother vanished over a year ago, the wizard who fought the Imperius Curse but only after he was forced to reveal information on his neighbours.

"Miss Pevensey?" Alice looked up at an owl-eyed man she knew to be Mr. Weatherby, Crouch's secretary, standing in the waiting room doorway.

"Yes?" Alice said as she leapt to her feet, unable to keep the eagerness from her voice; she hoped she was about to be hired. She doubted she would have been asked to come to the Ministry in person for a rejection.

Weatherby regarded her for a moment. Just when Alice was starting to feel uncomfortable, he produced a letter from the pocket of his robes. "Mr. Crouch instructed me to give this to you personally."

Alice accepted the letter. It felt too thick to be a rejection. She touched her wand to the seal - a fanciful 'C' and a hippogriff. Crouch's seal, Alice thought with awe. It took an effort of will to keep from running her finger across the hardened wax, but she was determined not to behave like a giddy schoolgirl.

She glanced up from her examination of the letter to find that Weatherby had already disappeared. There were no witnesses if this was to be a simple dismissal. Alice took a deep breath, and whispered the spell that would break the seal.

_To: Miss Alice Pevensey  
From: Mr. Bartemius Crouch, Sr.  
Subject: Application to Department of Magical Law Enforcement_

_You have been accepted by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement office in St. Peter Port, Guernsey. Should you choose to accept this position please report to Ministry Annex, room 311 for further information. Be advised that your presence is requested in Guernsey as soon as possible._

When Alice finished reading the letter she could not decide whether to accept it and be pleased or crumple it up and feel insulted. It was not an invitation to become an Auror, but it was a job in the D.M.L.E. and she could always apply for a transfer to the Auror Office or the Hit Wizards. She scanned the rest of the document. At least the pay would be decent. Even the smallest Ministry salary was nothing for a witch with barely two knuts to rub together to sneer at.

Alice decided to accept the position. If she did not find a job soon she would have to ask her family for gold and she had no intention of doing that. The documents directed her to down the hall to an office by Magical Equipment Control to pick up her supplies. The clerk was a rather chatty Ministry witch with a cousin on Guernsey gave her advice about finding a place to stay in St Peter Port.

As she was leaving, lugging an imposing book of regulations that refused to shrink and a packet of official papers, she met a tight-lipped Minerva McGonagall, shepherding a red-eyed girl, in the corridor. They were moving past Alice to the D.M.L.E. offices she had just left. Alice found herself stopping just outside the lift and staring back at the way she had come, wondering whether the girl had just lost all or part of her family.

"Her family was murdered last night." The headmaster's voice intruded upon Alice's thoughts. She pivoted to find Dumbledore standing by the lift doors and watching her with a grave expression.

"I thought as much," Alice said. She well recalled seeing similar faces on housemates informed of losses during her last year at Hogwarts. Until then such unpleasantness was rare. She recalled when Sara Hastings's grandmother died of dragonpox, a mundane death no one bothered to pull a student out of class to report. Now, however, there were murders, attempted murders, kidnapping, disappearances, curses and maiming.

"I understand you have been accepted into the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Dumbledore said, nodding at the supplies in her arms. "Congratulations."

"Thank you," Alice did not bother to wonder how Dumbledore knew. The headmaster's sources were legendary.

"It appears your first case will be the murder of Miss Landry's family." Dumbledore indicated the direction McGonagall and her charge had gone in.

This was news to Alice. "I hadn't heard."

"Jersey," Dumbledore sighed. "Very early this morning. I'm not surprised you were not told, information is a premium in these dark times."

Alice had the distinct impression that Dumbledore wanted her to know something, but the headmaster's roundabout way of telling her was devouring valuable time. She had to travel to Guernsey and report to a Protector called Mr. Ketterly by the end of the day.

"Sir..."

"Have you ever read the works of Oscar Wilde?"

Whatever she had been expecting, it was not that.

She blinked. "I can't say that I have." She had never even heard of Oscar Wilde and she considered herself well read.

A subdued version of the infamous twinkle appeared in Dumbledore's eyes. "I think you might soon encounter someone fond of Mr. Wilde's work. _The Importance of Being Earnest_."

With that, Dumbledore left her staring at him in complete confusion. After a moment Alice shook herself out of her momentary trance. She had too much to do to loiter around the Ministry. Most of Dumbledore's advice required much digestion so whatever he meant would become clear in time.

Alice returned to her room and began to pack. As she had been living out of her trunk since school, this did not take a great deal of time. As soon as all necessary items were in the trunk she Apparated back to the Ministry and caught the noon Portkey to St Peter Port, Guernsey.


	4. The Lady in Question, Part II

Author's Note: Many thanks go to LuthAn for her amazing beta of this story.

The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector Chapter Two: The Lady in Question 

**Part II**

Back at the St Peter Port office of the D.M.L.E., Andrew and Moody warmed themselves with hot beverages as they discussed the Landry case. Unfortunately, there was not much to talk about. It was obvious that the family was targeted because their daughter Charlotte was a Muggle-born witch. The Ministry was tightening the information on the families of Muggle-born wizards but with so many cracks in the system there were bound to be leaks. Not to mention Muggle methods of locating people, which some of the Death Eaters whose blood was not as pure as they purported might be willing to employ to find their victims.

"I had hoped there would never be another Dark Mark in my territory," Andrew sighed. The memory of the murder on Alderney was still etched in his mind. At the time he had prayed it would be the only time the Dark Mark appeared over his jurisdiction. "It was probably too much to hope for."

"Luck only holds for so long." Moody looked past the open office door and through the windows into the streets. It was a clear November morning and every few minutes someone would walk past on their way to one of the shops on either side of the Magical Law Enforcement Office. "Any folk around here you think might be Death Eaters or sympathizers?"

"There are a half dozen old families on Herm," Andrew explained. "I'd be surprised if at least three or four of them aren't supporting the Death Eaters in some way. Information, gold, supplies... But I'm not so sure about risking their own necks; they don't have a great deal to do with other purebloods. They won't even send their children to Hogwarts. Too liberal, I suppose." Andrew frowned into his teacup. "Other than snobbery, I really can't give you more of an impression. I've only ever had official dealings with the St. Alban family." Andrew paused, uncertain whether to voice mere suspicion.

"You got a gut feeling about them?" Moody leaned in closer. He had heard of the Herm purebloods - an inclusive bunch that seldom permitted outsiders in their midst. It was rumoured the families fortunes had been derived from smuggling.

"I've always thought Olivia Baker's death odd," Andrew said. Then he remembered that Moody was not a local and would therefore be unaware of the meaning behind that statement. "Olivia Baker was Muggle-born and secretly involved with the son of one of the old families - I couldn't say which. Usually the old families use Memory Charms to put a stop to such affairs, especially if the other party is a Muggle, but apparently Olivia and her paramour took steps to prevent such a thing from ending their romance."

"But the affair ended when the girl was found dead. Suicide?" Moody guessed. Every so often a young pureblood or their lover would die in a purported accident or suicide to prevent them from betraying their blood. Such deaths had been unheard of for at least twenty years before He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named appeared on the scene.

Andrew gave a curt nod. "Officially, yes, it was suicide. Unofficially it reminded me of something I saw back in '41. I think several items in Olivia's potion kit were tampered with, turning the hangover remedy she made into something toxic. After her death, the original uncontaminated bottles were replaced in the kit. I can't prove any of this of course; the neighbour who found her called Muggle authorities and her flat was in shambles by the time I'd got there. But there were traces of foxglove in the potion and that isn't something kept by the average potion brewer. On the other hand, foxglove is a common plant and could be found almost anywhere in Europe without difficulty. It's even known to Muggles."

"If it was a murder, it was a clever one."

"Very clever."

"I hate to have to ask, but have there been any odd illnesses or injuries around the islands lately?"

Andrew shook his head. He knew why Moody was asking. Some of the Dark Arts were considered illegal for what they did, others for the items they required, and still others illegal because of the danger they caused to the spell's caster or those around him, for even a skilled Dark Wizard could die in the simple practice of a Dark spell or potion. This danger formed part of the allure of Black Magic.

"Well, keep an eye out. You-Know-Who encourages innovation and Dark Arts research is risky."

"I heard about some of the new curses the Death Eaters are using." He tried not to glance out at the street. What would it be like to see Guernsey gripped by fear the way London was? On the streets of Guernsey people still took their time walking and ventured out after dark. In London and Hogsmeade, however, steps were hasty and filled with frequent glances over the shoulder and night excursions were dangerous undertakings. Andrew hoped he would never witness the transformation of St Peters Port into a city of fear and dread.

"It's what you get when too much power and money is concentrated among people who think they're better than everyone else." Moody growled. "Most of these old families have things stashed in their attics and cellars that have been illegal since before the founding of Hogwarts."

"Well, as I told you, most of the old Herm families are secretive and few have criminal records. St. Alban is the only one with a conviction for Muggle-baiting," Andrew decided it was time to prevent himself from going into a diatribe on the evils of certain families. "Its twenty years old, but his kind don't stop. They just become more crafty."

Moody made a sound of agreement. "I _had_ noticed there isn't much record for Muggle-baiting in these parts."

"Most of Guernsey is half-blood and accustomed to Muggles. Herm is where most of the other half lives and I cannot pay visits to the island on whim. The Wizarding part of the island is Unplottable and hazardous for Apparation, so my arrival by Floo or broom is never a surprise. And the village is rather... close-mouthed to say the least. There are a few, who come and go from the island, but they don't talk much and I lack the resources to keep a closer watch. Floo access to the island is through here and most supplies come from here rather than London, and I try to monitor what does come in and out but there are limits."

"And if they get entangled with the French things become messy rather quickly," Moody finished. He rubbed his head.

"France is only a few miles away," Andrew reminded him. "Much closer than Britain."

Moody nodded. "I've read your requests for another protector."

"The understaffing is more than a nuisance." Andrew replied. Ever since Lewis died, it was rare Andrew could complain to anyone who had the ability to do anything. He was written off as having been spoilt by his powerful brother and turned over to clerks and secretaries who filed his requests away, never to see the light of day. Never mind that Andrew and Lewis had always taken great care to keep their professional relationship aboveboard and that he had never asked for anything out of the ordinary. Now he had Alastor Moody sitting across from him, an Auror who had the ear of Barty Crouch and he decided to take advantage of the opportunity. "It would be downright dangerous if the Death Eaters realized how understaffed we are and decided to take full advantage."

"You're in luck today, then. Mr. Crouch filled the vacancy before I left London." Moody produced a sealed letter, which he handed to Andrew. "Part of the reason I was sent was to inform you."

Andrew raised an eyebrow as he read the letter. "A nineteen-year-old witch barely out of Hogwarts? No training whatsoever?" The complaint was more a matter of form than anything.

"Pevensey's training is your responsibility, just as Dupree's was" Moody informed him. He leaned in close, keeping his words for the Protector's ears alone. There was no one else in the office but habits of secrecy were best kept through practice. "Crouch told me to tell this to you and _only _you - the girl is suitable but there are questions about her loyalty. Her mother supports the other side, you see, and her late father might have signed up before he died. Crouch doesn't want to dismiss Pevensey outright but he needs to test her loyalty."

Andrew read between the lines. If London wanted tests, they would have to pay attention to his office and its needs. He would be able to have more of his concerns addressed. Even if Pevensey was an agent of You-Know-Who, how badly could she bungle things out here? Most of his cases were citations for drunken magic where Muggles might see and the occasional broom theft. Guernsey would be the perfect place for some rudimentary training...

"We've finally been assigned another protector," Andrew told Basil at the office after Moody returned to London. The Auror had, of course, left him to deal with the small mountain of paperwork the Landry case wrought. He had yet to interview Jakes' neighbour, but that was just a formality. Barring a miracle, this was another murder that was never to be solved. There were no leads to pursue, no suspects to interview, no evidence to examine. Three people dead and there was not even a boot print to mark the murderers passing. Nothing. Even the curse on the jewellery box was standard in the hand-copied spell books that circulated amongst students no matter how many the authorities confiscated. It was not even a difficult curse to perform, requiring only cruelty and magic at the Ordinary Wizard Level.

All Andrew could do was file the case away and hope a Death Eater would be captured and confess.

Basil's eyes widened at the mention of the new protector. It was something of a local joke to say something unlikely to occur would happen 'when we get another protector'.

"Who is it?" Basil asked, curious. He was looking forward to spreading this interesting bit of gossip at the Knarl and Griffin. Someone at the pub would buy him drinks in order to hear the news.

Andrew had to think only a moment to recall the name. "Pevensey, Alice Pevensey."

Basil scowled at the name.

"What is it?" Andrew asked. He was more familiar with Muggle royalty than pureblood wizards, excepting the families of the Channel Islands. Aside from his friends, the Martins and Harpers, he tried to have as little to do with purebloods as possible. He assumed Alice Pevensey was a pureblood if her family was suspect, but they had never come onto his mental radar. There were well over a hundred pureblood families in the British Isles alone.

Basil, however, followed pureblood society news as avidly as Andrew's mother had once followed the British royal family. "Is Alice Pevensey any relation to David Pevensey?"

Andrew decided to feign complete ignorance. "Crouch didn't mention her family in the letter."

Basil sniffed disdainfully. "Well if she _is_ of the same family, her father died of a dodgy illness - from what I've heard he messed around too much in the Dark Arts and it killed him. Mother attends social functions with _that crowd_."

That crowd' was a euphemism for 'people everyone knows are Death Eaters or are as good as'.

"Keep an eye on her, indeed," Andrew muttered. He decided to send a request for the file on the Pevensey family.


	5. First Impressions, Part I

Author's Notes: As always, many thanks to LuthAn for the beta.

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector**

**Chapter Three: First Impressions**

**Part I**

**Wednesday, November 13, 1974**

**Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Guernsey Office**

Alice deposited her trunk in her rented room above the Knarl and Griffin. She ran a brush through her hair and smoothed her robes before setting off to find the Department of Magical Law Enforcement Guernsey Office.

She frowned at her reflection in her small hand mirror. First impressions mattered and the last thing she wanted was to appear before her new boss looking like a scruffy schoolgirl. As she tried to unsnarl a tangle, her comb slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor.

Alice winced; dropping a comb while combing hair was a sign of a coming disappointment. As she knelt to pick up the comb, Alice wondered if this were a portent or mere superstition. There were many customs regarding hair among wizards. Some, like burning cut off hair were merely sensible, but others were simply bizarre like the threading a strand of hair through a frog's throat for luck before a wedding. Alice had pitied the frog when her sister Dorothea did it.

Finding the Office proved to be a challenge despite the Magical community of St. Peter Port occupying only one winding street. She was not accustomed to the steepness of the streets and was exhausted after ten minutes. Eventually one of the locals took pity and directed her to a tiny office squeezed in beside a photography shop.

Alice paused to consider her appearance outside the photography shop under the guise of examining the window display.

"_You must be mindful of the image you present to the world_!" her Aunt's Opal's' disapproving words thundered through Alice's mind. No matter what Alice thought of that particular aunt, she acknowledged the woman had a point.

Unfortunately, the image she currently presented was not her best. Her hair was decidedly windblown and lank, though combing her fingers through it seemed to remedy the worst of the mess. Her cheeks were pink from the cold and her brown eyes were bright. Alice sighed. She was still wearing her Hogwarts cloak, albeit without the school crest and with a different clasp, and if she had worn her school robes underneath she would have stood a good chance of being mistaken for a fourth year. She had always had a sweet face more suited to a little girl than a grown witch, but there was little she could do about that now. Maybe her mother's suggestion of make-up had some merit; but in this damp, it would probably have smeared so she would look like a fourteen-year-old clown.

Once she was paid, Alice resolved to find a new cloak. And some different robes in a better cut would not be amiss; perhaps even a few cosmetic potions. After all, just because she seldom bothered with such things did not mean she had no idea how to use them.

She adjusted her scarf and gave her hair a final pat. She could stand there by the window all day or she could go into the office, and she knew which she had to do. She took a deep breath and reached for the door. After a moment of fumbling with the handle, she got the door open and stepped over the threshold. It was warmer inside the office; whether that was the result of heating spells or simply being out of the cold November air was impossible to say.

"May I help you?" asked an old man in violet robes seated behind a desk. She though she saw him slide the _Daily Prophet_ society page into a drawer, but couldn't be sure.

"I was sent here from London," Alice said, trying not to sound breathless as she produced a sheath of papers from her cloak pocket. "Alice Pevensey, I believe I'm expected."

The wizard stared at her, his expression switching from bored to suspicious in under a second. "Miss Pevensey." He pronounced her name with extreme distaste.

Alice bit her lip. Even here, practically in _France_, she could not evade her family's reputation. She wondered how much the Guernsey Office knew.

The wizard seemed to be expecting something from her. She felt her gaze slip down to her shoes before she caught herself and focused just behind the his left ear. She refused to allow herself to slide back into childish habits.

"I don't know your name," she said hopefully.

"Basil," the man said. Alice wondered if Basil was his given or family name, but before she could ask, Basil steered her into another room where there were two battered wooden desks, only one of them filled. The wizard at the occupied desk had his feet propped up on the top of a filing cabinet and seemed to be half-listening to a programme on the Wizarding Wireless Network.

"Pevensey's here," Basil announced before leaving Alice to fend for herself. He hadn't even told her who the wizard was, but she suspected he was Ketterly, her new boss.

"Andrew Ketterly," the wizard said gruffly, confirming her guess. He did not stand to shake her hand. "I'm Chief Protector here."

Ketterly studied her carefully under hooded blue eyes. Alice felt as though she were a bug pinned on a card.

"I petition London for seven years for help and they send you. Fortunately, for you, I'm accustomed to being the sole Protector in these islands, and it'll stay that way since it will take time to train you up. You will be learning the basics for a while," Ketterly said. "I hope you don't have any romantic notions of investigating murders any time soon. This isn't Baker Street."

"Baker Street?" Alice finally found her voice.

"Sherlock Holmes? Sir Arthur Conan Doyle?" Ketterly looked at her expectantly. "I suppose those don't ring any bells."

Alice shook her head. "I'm sorry. Is that a Muggle film?" Alice knew that Muggles sometimes knighted their actors.

"Books, actually, though many films have been made from them."

"Muggle books can turn into films?" Alice was very impressed.

"Not in the way you are thinking," Ketterly allowed himself a small smile.


	6. First Impressions, Part II

Author's Notes: Again, many thanks to LuthAn for the beta.

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector**

**Chapter Three: First Impressions**

**Part II**

Andrew spent the afternoon showing Alice how to fill out some of the simpler forms. There was no better way to disabuse a trainee of unrealistic expectations than by introducing them to paperwork. By day's end they had made their way through a good portion of the paperwork Andrew had been putting off.

The next morning, Ketterly decided to take Alice along when he interviewed Morris Jakes' neighbour Mr. Bradley.

Bradley was an elderly wizard who still walked with a limp from a youthful duel gone awry. When Andrew identified himself the old man invited them in and offered tea. There was no surprise in his face – he had clearly spoken to Jakes and knew to expect investigators – but more importantly, there was no hint of anxiety or deception. If anything, Bradley seemed to regard the visit as a welcome change from his routine.

Bradley invited them into his home and offered tea. Andrew was pleased to note that Alice looked at him questioningly before she took a sip. He nodded; the tea was safe, a bit weak for his taste, but safe.

"I must ask what you were doing when you saw the Mark," Andrew asked after taking another drink. He set his enchanted quill to record the conversation exactly, even if it insisted upon adding marginal notes during lulls in the conversation.

"I'm a poor sleeper these days, curse causes me leg to dance sometimes," Bradley explained stoutly. "I went to make tea and looked out me kitchen window and there was that thing plain as daylight. I called Morris, as he works for the Ministry."

"Did you see anyone when you looked outside?" Andrew asked.

"I thought I saw movement, maybe figures in dark cloaks moving about the garden. At least two, but without my glasses on it was hard to tell for sure," he made an apologetic gesture. Witnesses often wished they could offer more.

Out of the corner of his eye Andrew saw Alice shudder at the mention of the Death Eaters. "Have you seen any odd characters or things in the area?"

"Other than Mrs. Randall's apple crumble?" Bradley forced a grin. "I wish I could tell you more, Protector Ketterly, but there isn't anything to tell."

Ketterly realized there wasn't much more to be had from Bradley and so asked him a few more procedural questions before standing to leave. They thanked him for the tea and collected their cloaks.

"Death Eaters often scout ahead," Ketterly explained as they left Bradley's house and approached a Muggle residence. "They like to be in and out as quickly as possible on a raid."

Alice nodded. "It doesn't sound as though they were here long."

"No," Andrew said. That it took only a few minutes to murder three innocent people and turn a little girl into an orphan was a chilling thought. He had heard that an aunt and uncle in Essex would take in Charlotte Landry. "It doesn't."

Posing as Muggle detectives looking into a burglary in the neighbourhood – a good ruse since there almost always had been at least one theft within the last few months – they moved quickly down the street.

It was only when they interviewed a retired accountant called Mr. Phelps who lived three doors down from the Landry cottage that Andrew and Alice heard anything substantial. Mr. Phelps recalled seeing a supsicious character.

"One was a woman," Phelps said. "Sure of it. She wore this queer dress. It looked like something a monk might wear except it was green and lilac. The get-up some folks wear these days."

"Hippies," Andrew declared with authority. Sometimes planting a false suggestion without magic worked better than any Memory Charm. "What did she look like?"

"Skinny as a rail, sandy hair. I didn't look at her face as much as that outfit."

"We'll look into things," Andrew said. He pressed a special card into the man's hand. It contained a charm that would discourage Phelps from speaking to his neighbours for a few days. Andrew hated doing it, but he had to uphold the Statute of Secrecy and it was better than modifying his memory.

"Hippy?" Alice shook her head as they left the street in search of a good place to Apparate. "I though Phelps said she had the rain thin. Are Muggle rails shaped differently than ours?"

Andrew sighed. Purebloods. "He meant he thought her one of those young Muggles who are rebelling against…well everything established. They wear odd attire and Muggles call them 'hippies.'"

Alice paused in mid-step. "They rebel against everything established?"

It seemed a bit much to Andrew as well. The establishment was flawed but overthrowing it would be worse. "Just about."

Alice shook her head, obviously unable to comprehend that much rebellion.

Andrew had Alice copy his notes from the interviews with Bradley and Phelps into the file. Writing legibly was a challenge for him, and he was relieved to have a trainee with a fair hand. Fortunately there had not been too many pauses in the conversation so there were only a few comments from his quill ('_Protector-Trainee Pevensey should not gulp down her tea...' 'Looks like rain this afternoon..._') in the margins. Then Ketterly quizzed Alice on regulations and finally sent her home with some more reading.

After she left, Basil opened his desk drawer and removed a letter bearing a Ministry seal. He brought it over to Andrew.

"This came while you were out, for your eyes only," Basil said. Andrew noticed a scorch mark on the inside of the secretary's sleeve.

"You're lucky there wasn't a more fearsome spell on this letter," Andrew remarked. Basil suffered from an insatiable curiosity.

Basil scowled at him. "I'm going home. Take care."

Andrew opened the letter. As he had half-expected, it was from Crouch asking him to meet a Ministry agent at a Muggle pub in London.

He had wanted the Department Head's attention. He had it now.


	7. First Impressions, Part III

Author's Notes: Again, many thanks to LuthAn for the beta.

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector**

**Chapter Three: First Impressions**

**Part III**

Despite the inconvenience of travelling to London, Andrew could see the wisdom of meeting outside Guernsey. People knew him by sight in the Channel Islands. In Britain, he was just another face in the crowd.

The Ministry agent was a tall, black-haired man whose bland features would easily melt away into any gathering. Andrew doubted this was his actual appearance as his slightly awkward strides hinted that he was unaccustomed to his height. Polyjuice Potion. Andrew kept his wand just up his sleeve.

The wizard took the empty seat next to Andrew. "I'm told you support the Cannons."

Andrew well remembered how to play this game. "I've heard you're an Arrows fan."

"This will keep anyone from listening in on our conversation." The agent held up a small pink lighter. "It also lights cigarettes. Do you smoke?"

Andrew shook his head.

The Ministry wizard appeared disappointed that he would not be able to use the lighter. "Do you have any leads on the Landry murder?"

At least the agent was willing to get to the point quickly. "A Muggle saw a witch in the neighbourhood before the murder."

"I'm sure that narrows the suspect list a little."

Andrew smiled bitterly. "Thousands of wizards in Britain, half female. And none of them would inspire trust in Mr. Phelps."

The agent shrugged. "Trustworthy and suspicious are relative."

Andrew raised an eyebrow. "Very profound. Do you study philosophy?"

"Yes," the wizard said simply.

"Odd interest, especially in times like these."

"I don't admire warriors," the agent said. "It's a sad day when such professions are called for. It means we have failed."

"I see," Andrew said. And he did. There was not a wizard in the Ministry who recalled the days before Voldemort who did not regret having done _something_ to stop him before the trickle of deaths and disappearances became a raging river. "Any other advice?"

"Be careful whom you trust. These days that advice cannot be repeated too often."

"Indeed," Andrew said. This meeting was proving more interesting than the dull report he had expected. He wondered at the identity of the Ministry agent; his interest in philosophy hinted at a Muggle background while his disappointment at not being able to use the lighter spoke of magical blood. "And how would you evaluate Miss Pevensey?"

The agent gave him a bemused look. Physically the other man looked to be in his late thirties, but his attitude told Andrew he was dealing with a younger man. "I thought that was what _I _was supposed to ask _you_."

"She hasn't been trouble so far," Andrew said honestly; he was surprised to feel protective of Pevensey. "But then again, she hasn't been given any opportunity."

"When will that be changing?"

"I plan to take her to view the Landry family before they are released for burial. Louis Landry was only a few years younger than she is."

"Will you warn her beforehand?"

Andrew shook his head from side to side. "My instincts tell me Pevensey is trustworthy, but my mind won't rest until I've tested her. Her response to Muggles is more one of curiosity than of hate or suspicion, but I need to see her raw response to their deaths."

The St Peter Port morgue was not a place Andrew Ketterly cared to frequent. His visits here were a duty he tried to execute as quickly as possible.

"This place smells odd." Alice sniffed the air disdainfully. Andrew supposed this was her first exposure to chemical disinfectants. "Where _are_ we?"

"The smell is from the Muggle cleaning potions and we're in the morgue," he said as he led her into the room. The last time he had been here was when Olivia Baker had passed.

He flicked on the lights.

"How did you do that?" Alice asked, her eyes as wide as a child presented with some marvellous new toy.

"There's a switch right here." Andrew demonstrated how to work the lights but nothing would do but Alice trying out the Muggle lighting herself. Perhaps out of guilt for what he was about to do, he allowed her to continue for a minute.

While Alice flicked the lights on and off, Andrew moved to the refrigerated section where the bodies were kept. He read the labels on the outsides of the drawers that at the moment resembled nothing more than a wall of oversized filing cabinets. Then he found the ones he needed. When Alice moved to join him, he pulled one out. He uncovered the body and waited for Alice's reaction.

She went a half step forward, trying to determine if what she was seeing was indeed what she thought it was. Then she went pale and her hand flew to her mouth.

"He's dead," she whispered. From her face Andrew knew this was the first dead person she had ever seen. The thought reassured him.

"They all are." Andrew indicated the other drawers. "You and I are the only living souls in this room."

There were over a dozen drawers and inside was a person, a dead person. Alice had to brace herself not to faint, and she noticed a peculiar humming coming from behind the drawers.

"William Landry, age 41," Andrew began in a mechanical tone. For some odd reason sounds seemed to echo. Andrew's voice, the strange humming noise she couldn't quite place... She had initially dismissed it, but now it seemed as annoying as a fly buzzing her ear. "A solicitor. Husband to Colette Landry, father to Louis and Charlotte. His daughter is a second year at Hogwarts. Cause of death is the Killing Curse."

The memory of the red-eyed little girl she had glimpsed at the Ministry floated in front of her. She heard Andrew close the drawer with a thud that almost made her jump. It was such a final sound.

He opened another drawer. "Colette Landry, 38, housewife. Married for eighteen years to William Landry, mother of Louis and Charlotte. Also killed by the Killing Curse."

He closed the second drawer. Alice tried to remember how many Muggles had died in the attack, but the humming distracted her and made it hard to think. She thought there were three victims; if so there was one more body to view.

Andrew did not look at the face of the final victim. "Louis Landry, 15, student. Son of William and Colette Landry. Brother to Muggle-born witch Charlotte Landry. Murdered using the Killing Curse."

Alice could not help but stare at the dead boy. He was only four years younger than she was. The humming seemed almost deafening.

"What do you notice about the bodies?" Andrew might have been Professor Slughorn quizzing her on the reasons for the success or failure of a potion.

"They don't move," Alice found herself saying. It was a barmy thing to say about the dead.

"The dead are usually still unless a Dark wizard chooses to animate the corpse," Andrew said with black humour. Alice had read of Inferi and shuddered. The motionless dead were unnerving enough.

"They look so pale and wax-like," Alice whispered. "They almost might have been asleep except for their stillness."

Apparently she had stumbled upon whatever observation Ketterly wanted from her. "The Killing Curse leaves no visible mark, but it can be distinguished from other causes of death in two ways: first, there will be no physical reason for the death. Second, the victim doesn't decompose at the normal rate."

Alice nodded. She remembered that much from school; the lessons on the Unforgivable Curses remained etched in her mind.

"_The slowing of physical decay is built into the curse," her instructor wheezed. He was her sixth teacher in as many years. For some odd reason, no Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher ever lasted more than a year. "It permits the castor to make use of the body in various Dark rituals for a longer period of time."_

_Alice paused in the middle of her notes; she had never considered herself especially squeamish but she hoped Professor Hargrove would not elaborate on the 'various Dark rituals'. Still, the subject exerted in her a kind of horrified fascination. A covert glance at her classmates proved that they too were hanging on Hargrove's every word._

"_In fact, initiation into many Dark Arts cults culminates with the commission of a murder with the Killing Curse. Not only is it a demonstration of one's power and ruthlessness, but it is a point from which there can be no return. The Unforgivable Curses are not so-called because they control, torture, or kill – there are a multitude of other spells and potions that accomplish the same thing. Nor are they Unforgivable because they require hatred, enjoyment of another's agony. No, they are thus named because of what they do to the castor." Hargrove paused for dramatic effect. He knew he had the full attention of his students for this lesson and relished it. "The Cruciatus Curse and Imperius Curse twist and stain the soul. The Killing Curse is the worst of the lot not so much because of its outcome but because it actually splits the castor's soul for a single moment."_

"_Why would someone use such a spell?" her classmate Marian asked. Only that morning word had come of the death of a classmate's grandfather, a retired Ministry worker, due to the Killing Curse. It was the weapon of choice of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers._

_Hargave regarded her carefully over his bifocals and said simply: "Because they can."_

As she stared at the quiet features of a boy who would never become a man, Alice rememberedhow_ inadequate _an explanation Hargrove offered And time had brought her only more questions.

_I'll never understand why people murder_, Alice realized as she trailed after Andrew, relieved to at last leave that lifeless, noisy room. _And I'm glad I won't._


	8. Importance of Meeting Earnest, Part I

Author's Notes: Again, many thanks to LuthAn for the beta.

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector**

**Chapter Four: The Importance of Meeting Earnest**

**Part I**

**November 15, 1974**

**St. Peter Port, Guernsey**

Alice helped Basil prepare the Landry file: a neat package detailing the crime scene, interview transcripts, photographs, and theories. The suspect list was blank except for a notation that suggested the involvement of a female Death Eater.

"It seems wrong to just pack this away," Alice said. She carefully kept her eyes away from the crime scene photographs. Even Muggle photographs were not as disturbing as these images since everything in Muggle pictures was still, not just the people.

"Why?"

"We don't have any idea who killed them."

"And how are we supposed to _gain_ any idea?" Basil wheezed as he dropped the file into a cabinet. "Tea leaves?"

Alice ran a hand through her hair. "Aren't there ways to identify a wizard by his magic?"

Basil gave a bark of a laugh. "If one is Albus Dumbledore. And if the other wizard is unusually distinctive. And if a great deal of power is employed."

"The Killing Curse requires a lot of power," Alice said. Her old teacher's words rang in her mind.

"_The Killing Curse is the worst of the lot not only because it has only one outcome but because it actually affects the castor's soul."_

"Yes, it does," Andrew interjected from his desk. "And your theory was proposed during the Grindelwald campaign. But the difficulty is that the Killing Curse is one of the few spells where it is _impossible_ to determine the caster by his magic, even if Merlin himself were present to do the analysis. It's the death, you see; the victim's essence is impossible to separate from the murderers."

When Andrew finally dismissed her, Alice threw herself into the difficult task of hunting for a flat. Anything to avoid thinking of those pale faces in the morgue. Three people so recently dead and their murders were already considered unsolvable. They weren't even buried yet.

Pushing aside those difficult thoughts, Alice concentrated on the equally difficult task of finding a permanent abode. She quickly excluded the Muggle-owned buildings when she was informed of the rent in pounds and had no idea what that would translate to in Galleons or Sickles.

She had the feeling Muggle proprietors thought her very thick as she had no idea what they referred to when she was informed that a flat had 'all mod cons'. Alice had little experience with Muggles. A lack that she could already see was a handicap in St Peter Port where the magical community was mostly half-blood and adept at mingling with Muggles. Alice was from Cumbria where there were many Muggles, but few that had ties to her family. They did most of their shopping in Hogsmeade since her mother disliked the magical areas of London.

"It's the air," Lydia Pevensey often said with a disdainful gesture. "Muggles pour filth into it and it's not fit to breathe."

There was a village near her home, Mardale, which Muggles knew about, but no longer frequented since wizards perpetuated the myth that it had been swallowed by a reservoir. Mardale still had a few Muggle inhabitants, most in service to the Magical families clustered in the area. Alice's first tutor was the son of one of these. The Confounding Charm kept him woefully incurious about the oddities of the family who employed him unless directly confronted by something odd. The spell would settle itself after a few minutes, but before that the Muggle was always frightened.

Alice's sister Dorothea always delighted in unsettling their tutor. Not being an especially creative girl, she used the same trick every time.

It was from that tutor and a Muggle-born wizard she briefly dated at school—a relationship based on mutual defiance of parents' wishes—that Alice had formed her opinion of Muggles. She might wonder at the differences between wizards and Muggles, but she always saw them as fellow human beings. Very strange people, but people.

She was walking back to her room above the Knarl and Griffin after an evening of exploration when she noticed a flurry of activity around a building on the next street. She glanced at the scene and realized with alarm that one house was on _fire_. As strange as that was, something else caught her eye and made her gasp... Something hovering ominously above the flaming house. It was obscured by smoke and she had only ever seen it in pictures, but Alice would have recognized the ghoulish skull and serpent of the Dark Mark anywhere. She ran towards it, heedless of shouts from the Muggles. Her wand was out but she could not recall the incantation needed to remove the Mark.

Alice knew Muggles did not like fire and employed people called 'Firelighters' to deal with it in the absence of Flame-Freezing Charms. Still, it was one thing to know about the Muggle fear of fire and quite another to experience it firsthand. Yet, as she ran toward the burning building, she became quite aware of this fear, as Muggles from all around shouted at her to stop. But she needed to get a look inside before the flames destroyed everything; there were too many people about to put out the fire with magic.

She ran into the building and saw a man in a Muggle suit lying on the floor of a shop. His face bore the surprised expression of the Killing Curse, though strangely he had a black feather sticking out of his mouth. Alice had only a moment's glance before she was dragged away by one of the firelighters, but the tingle of evil magic stained the area and made her skin crawl.

She managed to sprinted back to the office, but it was already locked up for the evening. She rested her head on the door and cursed herself for a fool. Of _course_ it was locked and she did not yet have a key. She went to find a fireplace to contact Andrew.

By the time they returned the fire had destroyed everything. Andrew showed her how to remove the Dark Mark and made arrangements to have a Healer examine the body.

"Fire burned most of it," Andrew sighed.

"Was the fire started on purpose?" Alice wondered. Staring at the blackened and smoky mess, she finally understood the Muggle fear of fire. It did so much damage.

"Perhaps." Andrew was not willing to concede such a thing on scanty evidence. Why would a Death Eater draw attention to a murder with the Dark Mark, _then_ light a fire? He glanced over at Alice and made a note to ascertain her precise whereabouts at the time of the crime.

Andrew led her off a to a nearby pub popular among area Muggles to question her about what she had seen. The Muggles - Andrew informed her that they were actually called _firefighters_ - arrived sometime later. He waited until they had a few pints before meandering up to them and speaking to a pasty-faced young man.

Andrew despised Memory Charms, but sometimes there was no way to avoid using them.

The distasteful deed done, he returned to Alice a few minutes later. "Electrical fire. The man you saw was called Benjamin Adams and he left his stove on. Muggles reckon he simply fell asleep."

"Not if the Dark Mark hung over his body," she said morosely. Andrew noticed that her hands were shaking.

"No," Andrew agreed.

When she went to the loo he took her wand from the table and examined it for a moment. This wand had not performed any illegal spells. All the same, he would inform Crouch of this latest development.


	9. Importance of Meeting Earnest, Part II

**The Magical War Detective I: The New Protector**

**Chapter Four: The Importance of Meeting Earnest**

**Part II**

Alice finally found a small flat next door to Wingfield and Perry's Apothecary shop. It was not much, but it was neat, clean, and quiet so she did not have to use many sound-proofing charms. Alice had always been heavy handed with those charms; they came out too strongly and tended to muffle the sounds within the room. Her schoolmates had not been pleased when they overslept after not hearing their alarms.

Her first evening in her new home, Alice was surprised to find a package waiting for her. Inside was a copy of _The Importance of Being Earnest_ by Oscar Wilde. A note tucked inside the book suggested she Floo to a certain London pub for dinner. Remembering Dumbledore's cryptic words to her in the Ministry about Oscar Wilde, she made plans for an evening in London.

Two days after the fire, the specialist Andrew brought in confirmed that Adams was indeed a victim of the Killing Curse. After the Healer's grisly report, Alice was relieved to have her mysterious London dinner date to distract her.

She found a man seated in the pub reading _The Importance of Being Earnest_. When he saw her approach, he gestured for her to take a seat at his table.

"You may call me Earnest. I'm not a fan of the _Daily Prophet_, I far prefer the works of Oscar Wilde," he said as he set the book aside.

"You must be the person Dumbledore mentioned," Alice said.

"Perhaps," he said vaguely.

Alice sighed. "I suppose being involved with Dumbledore leads to obfuscating speech patterns."

"Perhaps," he smiled. Alice noticed absently that he had a nice smile.

"For all I know there could be Polyjuice Potion in that glass and you're really a witch," she said. He was a handsome man with sandy hair that looked as though it might be blond in the summers and kind blue eyes. He had the look of a pureblood about him, but his familiarity with Muggle authors hinted at a Muggle strain.

"Its seems blatant you never seen Polyjuice Potion. This is a martini - stirred not shaken." He seemed to find something in that statement amusing, but Alice found it merely puzzling. "But I _could_ have taken Polyjuice Potion before you arrived. A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal."

Alice decided to cut to the chase. "Why did you want to see me? Who are you really? Who do you work for?"

He studied her over the rim of his glass for a moment. "My name is unimportant. I work for Dumbledore as you already guessed; feel free to contact him if you have any doubts. As for why I want to see you... the fire destroyed any evidence left when the unfortunate Mr. Adams was murdered. You are the only witness. What did you see?"

Alice stared at the man in disbelief; he expected her to _trust _him? As he met her gaze, she found her reluctance to speak of what she had seen wilting.

The words tumbled out before she could stop them. "It was probably the Killing Curse." She remembered seeing Louis Landry in the morgue all too well. "Only odd thing was a black feather stuck in his mouth."

Earnest appeared thoughtful. "A black feather in his mouth?"

"It might have been an Augurey feather," she conjectured. "It was pretty ragged."

The Oscar Wilde enthusiast tapped his chin with a finger. "Peculiar."

"Indeed," Alice said dryly.

Earnest stood and bowed to her. Alice found herself amused by the gesture. "Thank you for the information."

"I wish I could offer more." _Where_, she wondered, _did _that_ sentiment come from_?

Earnest paused, his demeanour suddenly one of uncertainty. "There is something else you could do, if you are willing."

"What?"

"You could give me your memory of the event. To be examined in a Pensieve."

The look in his blue eyes was hopeful and Alice found herself nodding her agreement. As it turned out, giving her memory did not hurt. In fact it rather tickled and was over with before she knew it.

Earnest smiled at her. He had a lovely smile. "Good evening, Miss...or should I say, _Protector _Pevensey. We'll meet again sometime."

Alice watched him disappear around a corner. _Protector Pevensey_. She liked the way Earnest called her that. She was going to have to get used to that address, but she had plenty of time. It was a wet, cold, evening in London and in the morning there might be news of another death or disappearance, but for the moment the world seemed full of limitless possibilities. She suddenly felt like a schoolgirl giggling over a boy and the sheer silliness of the thought made her laugh. Alice found herself humming under her breath as she took a meandering path in search of a good place to Apparate from.

She ended up outside the Knarl and Griffin, back in St. Peter Port. She had meant to go directly to her new flat, but there was a strange feeling of savage glee about the pub that compelled her to stay. She found out the reason when in answer to a simple question she glimpsed a newspaper headline.

"Aurors are permitted the use the Unforgivables?" Alice said incredulously after reading the headlines. The evening _Prophet_ had to be in error.

The bar man nodded. "About time we started giving Aurors real means to defend themselves."

_By killing people?_ Alice thought, feeling her earlier good cheer replaced by dread. Out of thousands of spells someone would choose to _defend_ themselves with _that_ curse? She noticed Basil at a table nursing a drink but he seemed to be in a foul mood and in truth Alice did not really want so much to discuss the latest revelation as run away from it.

Alice excused herself and went outside where she was sick in the shrubbery. No, this was not about defence. This was about revenge.

She leaned against a wall. The Ministry was fighting with fire now, and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would surely retaliate. She wondered what poor soul would pay the price. She wondered at the cost to the Aurors for using Unforgivables.

"_The Killing Curse is the worst of the lot not only because it has only one outcome but because it actually affects the castor's soul..." _

**The end...and the beginning**

Author's Note: This is the end of the first Magical War Detective story, but don't fear: there are other stories planned. Next up is a one-shot entitled _Alice in Muggleland_, then _The Death Eater's Daughter _where Alice and Andrew have to investigate the death of a pureblood girl.

"A little sincerity is a dangerous thing, and a great deal of it is absolutely fatal." - Oscar Wilde (of course)


End file.
